


Still Life

by bigdamnher0



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Desperate Fool Tampers with the Laws of Nature, Johnny recreates what he lost, M/M, Past Character Death, minor blood and injury, slightly nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27057529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigdamnher0/pseuds/bigdamnher0
Summary: What makes a body mortal? Only three things.Bloodto rot,breathto sing, anddeath—to welcome home.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43
Collections: NCT Spookfest 2020





	Still Life

**Author's Note:**

> archiving this here from [twt ](https://twitter.com/prodjohnmark/status/1314226307224412160?s=20)!

🌑

The package arrives under a quarter moon. 

Johnny wheels it into his workspace, navigating past his tools, the fresh batch of bowls drying under a spinning fan, and begins peeling apart the brown wrapping paper to find the calling card attached at the top: _Greetings from_ _Still Life_ , it reads, _May you find the courage to create life in its truest image._ The instructions beneath detail how to handle the clay and later, summon holy fire in the kiln. 

With a wire Johnny carves into the slab, a cool canvas the color of skim milk. One, two, three, four. The fifth piece, he saves for last. Rolling up his sleeves, he moves his tools on the floor aside—he won’t need them today—and settles to his knees. 

Memories persist in the body; Johnny allows his hands to map the image, trace the shape sleeping beneath the formless clay. He fashions a sole, then the arc of an Achilles’ heel. Skates a palm, to form the dais of the body: two plush pillars, where he ridges each knob of a spine, one atop each other; rebuilding Babel. With his mouth, he licks a delicate seam between new thighs, remembering how they once quivered, deepening and deepening the valley. Then, with his pinkies, he hooks in and lifts the monarch wings of a pelvis. Johnny is panting by this point; the fan stirs and stirs blood-slick heat. 

He scans the body—though there is much work before it becomes one—then dips his fingers in his mouth, so he can smooth down any rebelling edges. Fortunately the give is easy; _Still Life_ promised pliant clay. 

Now, the holy work: the belly button, he hollows with his tongue. The cock, he forms in his mouth, thickening the bulb as memory swells, stretches, and breathes. He can almost imagine the big toe twitching. Blood leaping back to its nest of capillaries, giddy, the way desire inspires. He splits a ribcage with his palms. Frames a neck like a prayer. 

Finally, he crawls over to the fifth slab. Jaw, cheek, mouth, nose. Left eye, right eye. This part connects to the top of the spine. What makes a body mortal? Only three things. _Blood_ to rot, _breath_ to sing, and _death_ —to welcome home.

Johnny retrieves the calling card. In one motion he drives the edge across his palm, until a red line emerges. He bends to tip the body’s chin down. Parts the mouth so it can catch the drops like warm rain. 

Then, Johnny flanks the torso. He allows himself to study the sleeping face, thumbing at the high cheek, before he leans in close and pushes his own breath into the throat. _Please_ , Johnny begs, _let this be mine._

Beneath his hand, the ribcage expands—

Mark opens his eyes.

Johnny cannot celebrate, not yet; one more, crucial step. He marches towards the plain wall with sure steps. Places the card onto the surface. The spell is instantaneous: the wall around it cracks, exhaling with an eggshell’s soft give, as the kiln builds itself. In the hollow, a small white-hot flame appears. Then it grows and grows. The room shreds with the sound of the pyre.

Mark stands and looks at him.

“Don’t be afraid,” Johnny whispers, even as his own voice sputters like a candle wick. “I won’t let them take you.”

Blood, breath, and death—time’s ingredients for the human condition. Mark is not human; Johnny has fashioned him into something better. He will not die.

Never again.

🌗


End file.
